


Where One Goes

by vensre



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Community: kinkme_merlin, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-08
Updated: 2011-04-08
Packaged: 2017-10-17 18:19:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vensre/pseuds/vensre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone is used to Arthur and Merlin always being together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where One Goes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this KMM prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/16289.html?thread=14722721#t14722721), and also for [](http://archiveofourown.org/users/magog_83)[**magog_83**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/magog_83/pseuds/magog_83/works), who had it on her Christmas wishlist.
> 
> My betas were [](http://archiveofourown.org/users/yue_ix)[**yue_ix**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/yue_ix/works) and lunchy_munchy, and they did a bang-up job. ♥

By the time the first sliver of sunlight cut through the wavering glass of Arthur's window, it was already shaping up to be an unpleasant sort of day. He had gone without breakfast from pure pique at seeing Morris's wary face first thing when the curtains opened, instead of Merlin's general Merlin-ness (foolish, usually smiling, never much more awake than Arthur himself at that hour). After that moment of shock, Arthur recalled that Merlin had been shut away in the physician's chambers since the previous evening, suffering a fever. Merlin's illness must have worsened if Morris was here.

Arthur didn't like surprises in the morning, and Morris still made an exceptionally easy target. And why would they be called throw pillows if they weren't for throwing?

Down on the practice grounds a half hour later, he regretted running off his erstwhile servant when it came to putting his armour on. He managed the mailshirt all right, but once his arms were draped in chain links, fastening the strap of his pauldron became a challenge at best. Skipping breakfast had only disadvantaged him, since he was so early to the field that hardly anyone was about yet. He settled for putting on his bracers, which he could reach at least, but his shirtsleeves rucked awkwardly beneath the layers of leather and metal. Unless this was done properly, his hands could go numb as he wielded his sword.

As the sun was clearing the treetops his knights began to arrive, accompanied by their squires (and why _didn't_ Arthur have a squire? He could certainly use one now). They were joined by the occasional knight-hopeful who would stand at the back and go through the motions with the rest, whether or not they had proper equipment. One of his newer knights came to sit beneath the overhang with Arthur and his pile of plate armour, offering a distracted, "'Morning," as he pored over a creased piece of parchment.

"Ah, Geraint. I could use a hand with this buckle."

"Hang on," Geraint said absently, squinting at the page. Either the knight wasn't much of a reader, or whoever had written it wasn't much of a writer. He snorted quietly at whatever he was puzzling out on the parchment.

Taken hugely aback at being ignored, Arthur struggled out of his shocked silence to bark, " _Sir_ Geraint!"

Geraint looked up, focusing fully on Arthur at last, and did a jerky double-take before leaping up from the bench and dropping his letter. "Your Highness! I apologise, I didn't know you were here, and it's a bit early and, erm." Geraint looked over the field, distracted again. "That is, I haven't seen Merlin anywhere around yet, so I thought... Please excuse me!" He bowed.

Arthur eyed him warily. The man hadn't _seemed_ prone to babbling when they'd knighted him. "The strap?" Arthur prompted, and Geraint hurried to assist.

"Is Merlin in the stocks, Sire?" Geraint ventured once the pauldron was secured, and the remaining clasps out of Arthur's reach fastened.

"No he's not in the stocks!" Arthur snapped, and proceeded to make everyone run circuits of the practice field with their mail on, but — most frustratingly — didn't feel any better for it.

 

Back in his chambers, Morris had resurfaced, and was digging out a stash of dirty laundry from behind Arthur's largest trunk. Bread and cheese and lukewarm ale were laid out on the table, instantly disposing Arthur to look more kindly on this intruder in his routine. The man had more spine than he'd imagined, returning to continue his assigned work a few hours after being shouted out of the room for (Arthur would grudgingly admit) no real reason.

"Morris," Arthur said, and the servant dropped the platter he'd apparently found in the laundry pile with a rolling clang. They both winced.

"Sire?"

"That incident this morning... was uncalled for."

"Sorry! I didn't—"

"I meant," Arthur interrupted, "on my part. Throwing things."

"Oh." Morris looked at him with his mouth hanging slightly open, then a smile spread across his face. "No harm done. Better a pillow than an edged weapon, m'lord."

"Good man."

"I hope Merlin recovers his health soon," Morris said, and while Arthur was still trying to decide how to respond, added, "No offense," in a way Arthur found extremely offensive indeed.

Since he was trying hard at that moment to be gracious, Arthur censored down the many answers he could have made to this, sighed, and ate his cheese. He thought he could feel a headache hovering over him, ready to attack. Perhaps he was coming down with Merlin's fever.

 

Things did not improve after lunch, aside from the detail that Arthur wasn't hungry anymore. It was his day to inform the King of the progress of his knights, so he collected his paperwork for the week and made his way down to present the reports. In the main passage between the castle's wings he spied Guinevere walking in step with another member of Morgana's household, an older woman called Thea who had come to Camelot along with Morgana. He watched them approach on the outer edge of the corridor, and leant to catch Guinevere's eye through the busy surge of people. If there was any word to be had of Merlin's health, she would probably have heard it.

She walked past him.

Arthur stopped short in the middle of the corridor, stung. He wasn't accustomed anymore to the habits of decent servants, who looked down decorously and kept to their space along the edges of the hall. If Merlin were here, he thought wretchedly — and that was as far as the thought had progressed when someone stumbled against him from the back, nearly toppling them both over. Arthur's arm shot out to prevent the fall, and after a moment he recognised that he was holding his old tutor upright by his fur mantle.

"Pardon me, Prince Arthur, I didn't see you there." Geoffrey blinked at him, straightening his robes.

"No, evidently not," Arthur said, putting forth extreme effort not to take anything out on the man. After all, this was clearly Merlin's fault, and Arthur was itching now to go in person and give Merlin a piece of his mind.

Having seen that Geoffrey had his balance, Arthur hurried on toward the King's audience chamber, clutching his now-crumpled scroll.

Uther looked up at Arthur's knock, and stretched out a hand to welcome him in, saying, "There you are." Determined to shed the unhappy aimlessness that had been creeping up on him all day, Arthur straightened and bowed his greeting. Uther nodded acknowledgement. "Where's that shadow of yours?"

Arthur gulped, appalled. "Do you mean my manservant?"

"As you say. I rarely see one of you without the other."

"He's indisposed, Father. A fever, from the recent frosts." Arthur shifted from foot to foot. "Now, may I..?" The King gestured broadly, giving permission; Arthur began to recount the week's work aloud, and to count down the minutes silently.

 

The physician's door was latched, but not locked. When Arthur swung it open to enter, he nearly ran flat into Merlin — unshod and still in his sleep clothes — on his way out.

"Arthur!" Merlin said, clasping Arthur's arm. His eyes were glassy, and a vivid pink hue sat high on his cheeks. "I thought there was something wrong — that something had happened. I was just coming to find you."

"It's been a particularly boring day, in fact. Where's Gaius? Don't tell me we have to set a guard on you to keep you in bed, Merlin, I thought you were lazier than that."

Merlin wrinkled his nose, nonplussed, and said, "So that was really just a dream? I didn't believe Gaius when he said so. Thought it was a trick to keep me resting."

"You should listen to him. Fever dreams can be strange, and vivid," said Arthur, who was feeling quite off-balance about the whole situation. He herded Merlin back toward the side room, clearing his throat. "If you're dreaming about me when you've been given a whole day off, I'd say you need some other hobbies."

"There's nothing wrong with my hobbies," Merlin said, grinning a bit. "Besides, when would I have time?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, and let Merlin tread the short staircase to his little bedchamber first. "Where is Gaius?"

Merlin shrugged. "I think... I may have been asleep right before this. Probably."

"You're hopeless." Arthur looked around Merlin's room, eyes falling on an empty cup perched on the bedpost. "Do you need some water?"

"Please." Merlin sat on his unmade bed, leaning against the wall with his head tilted back as though he wanted desperately to be lying down but couldn't quite make it all the way there. More alarmed by Merlin's polite response than he could express, Arthur located Gaius's water pitcher and filled Merlin's cup. He then liberated a clean strip of cloth from the medical supplies and poured water on that as well, and brought them back to Merlin's room.

"Lie down properly," he said, setting Merlin's cup on the windowsill. Merlin opened his eyes and looked blankly up at him. "Or... fine!" Arthur hooked one arm swiftly beneath Merlin's propped-up knees, and hauled him down the bed far enough for his head to thump down onto the pillow.

"Hey!"

Arthur ignored the protest and laid the wet cloth across Merlin's forehead before his hand could warm it too much.

"That feels good," Merlin conceded after a moment of muzzy indignation. He let his eyes fall shut again. Arthur pulled the chair from Merlin's desk over to his bedside and settled onto it.

"Even if something happened, what could **you** have done about it?" Arthur said, bemused by Merlin rushing into imagined danger in his socks.

"I'm supposed to be with you, is all."

"That seems to be the consensus," Arthur said.

One of Merlin's eyes opened partway, then both, tracking Arthur's own. "How do you mean?"

"Never mind. But really, all of Camelot has been obnoxious today, to make up for you staying in I suppose."

"Nice, that's very nice."

Arthur smirked. "So are you going to sleep, or should we play tabula? I think Gaius has a board."

"Don't you have things you should be doing? Important busy prince things?"

Arthur found himself smiling, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees. "If I'm needed, I believe they'll know where to find me."


End file.
